The Dangers of Literacy

As most of my loyal readers know, any discussions of my past romantic relationships (serious or otherwise) tend to be brief and elicit sympathetic words of encouragement and awkward pats on the back. There is no need to get too detailed, but if you were keeping count, you'd have yet to reach the second hand (and if you are starting to keep count, please start with your longest finger).

For some reason, most of the ladies involved in these joint ventures have been strong-willed to the point that even Ruth Bader Ginsburg would take a look at them and say "Damn girl, lighten up a bit. Give that man a break." Fortunately, the current girl is much more on the feminine side and does all those great girly things like being nice and smelling good that you would expect from someone you're dating*.

Unfortunately, with more feminine lady friends there also come thoughts, actions and reading material that are completely foreign to me. The latest addition to this list was a little magazine called Cosmopolitan.

At first glance, the mag seems to be completely harmless. The colors are bright, the font is big and the girls pretty. Unfortunately, there is a nasty secret hidden in the glossy, strawberry scented pages. After immersing herself for what may have been hours, I expected MiaManda to come out with comments like "Ooooh, now I can make you even better pies!", or "You were right, I should question you less and follow your requests blindly."

Instead, I was hit by a barage of questions that even my naivety flagged as dangerous if answered. Gents, if at any time you are asked any of the following, I suggest faking a seizure. If you're dating a health care professional, hit your head on the desk until a real one occurs:

• What do you think of this lingerie (pointing to a hot, scantily clad 83 pound model wearing a shoelace and cotton ball)?
• Do you think (insert anything here) would help our romantic life?
• Isn't she cute (pointing to any other female over 16 years old)?
• Want to hear what is on the list of the 423 things happy couples do that we don't?
• Want to take this quiz with me?

You may laugh, but when the articles carry the titles of "Him and His Friends: How to Properly Insert the Wedge", "That Bitch! How to Get Back at Your Best Friend" and "Testicles: How to Properly Remove, Mount, and Place Over the Mantel", you have to realize the odds are stacked against you.

I'm sure this is a great magazine, but fellas, if you have it laying around your house, make this the time to become a pyromaniac. The court costs might be through the roof, but you'll never have to take the "How much does he really love you?" test.




*For the record, she can be a be-atch if necessary. I once watched her nearly slap the shit out of some douche that had 70 pounds on her. I also got a disapproving look when I strode in front of a fan pointing in her direction, braced myself and sent a Holmes fueled symphony of flatuance her way. But I digress...

Like Woah and OMFG

Despite what some may think, I don't squeal like a school girl on Valentine's day very often. Sure, I may perk up when Carolina signs another All American or I solve a problem on Project Euler, but rarely does an audible screech escape from my lips.

This was not the case early last evening. An event of such great historical importance, epic proportions and unpredictability was announced that had anyone dared dream of it, they would have been engulfed in a straight jacket and whisked away to a state run rehabilitation facility in a matter of seconds.

No, Bill O'Reilly has not admitted that his show is done in jest. Nor has Fox "News" fessed up to being little more than entertainment for the feeble minded. And god no, I'm not getting married (again).

In fact, it was announced that MySpace is going to broadcast the first Ben Folds Five reunion in nearly a decade from their old stomping grounds (and mine) - Chapel Hill. If you've never been engulfed in giddiness, elation, and euphoria all at once, you should try it. It's like having a million little fingers massage your whole body while nude angels frolic in a baby oil pool for which you are the life guard.

Add this great news to the fact that fall is quickly descending upon us, Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks, I have two great Fantasy Football teams and MiaManda is surprising me with an early birthday present this week and the last couple of days have been quite fun despite the best efforts of life's little PITAs.

A couple one liners for ya:

• If your water heater has a 6 year warranty, be assured that it will explode at 6 years and 2 months.
  
• Golf is addicting. Even more so if you're awful.
• If anyone needs to get in touch with Satan herself, let me know. I have that pain in the ass' contact info.
• I propose that the AL MVP vote is fixed so as to allow Pedroia and Youkilis to split it.
• The mop top has gone about 4 months without so much as a trim. Don't worry, I'm still stunningly handsome.
• The poison ivy is finally gone. Please do enjoy my documentation of it's disgustingness.
  

Finally, a little teaser to get you to check back in a few days. There will soon be photo evidence of pussy-whipped-ness to a degree which has never been seen before. Not to spoil the surprise, but it involves fantasy football, co-managers and official team uniforms...